Movies | The eternal solitude of the restless Mind

Ok…Now you’ll think i’m bipolar. lol … Just after my emotional post about the end of this year and all the friends i made and adventures i lived here comes a post that may not be totally pleasant. I’m not writing it to be unpleasant but it is kinda. Not because it’s sad but because it’s contrary to an aspirational and cheering notion. The notion that photography has to do with life. The notion that this echo that we call representation of life is something more than the denial of death. That ss something more than the need to savor the moment that is long gone. These days the aesthetics are important for some but the majority are interested in the moments. The part of the universe that was “captured” and it’s been displayed for as long as one can fancy it’s qualities. I really love these moments so that’s why i think a lot about the subject and despite the fact that it is a joy to look at a great photographer’s work my point is: This is not alive and it doesn’t mean anything more than an echo. Even if these photos were invented and not natural at all. Even if there was a studio and all clothes and hairs were fake still there was a moment. A real one. And these photos are the echoes of these moments. They are dead. I’m writing this thinking about artists. Most live ones especially those i know and can comment about with property do their work in an attempt to extent their lives. To be there even when they are not. To create an immortal Ego. Of course history shows us some personalities that maybe didn’t follow this logic but most do. I just believe totally in artists that burned everything they have done and nobody saw it ever (an idea that is kinda hard to materialize). So what is cheering about this post is the following: Just what i’m saying is that art is overrated and sometimes life is underrated. Sometimes it takes much more genius to live at old age after sight is gone and taste is gone but the sounds of life and the warm sun have to suffice. And people do that everyday! Picasso maybe couldn’t do it…so where is the fame and fortune for these people?? Why what they do is not more artistic than what we see in museums? That’s why my new year’s resolution is the widely quoted and beat up monologue from the film trainspotting: “Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suit on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life” …and fuck the need to know what comes after you die and how will you look 500 years from now and what future societies will think about you. Let’s live and enjoy our time!